


A Truth Stranger Than Fiction

by Catalysts



Series: Divine Intervention [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catalysts/pseuds/Catalysts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Opening of the College of Enchanters is an event Alistair would rather not have tackled in the absence of the Queen. Luckily, the Inquisition's Commander isn't enjoying himself much either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Truth Stranger Than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Divine Intervention, though in no way necessary to have read that one first. The story so far:
> 
> The Grand Opening of the College of Enchanters has arrived and Divine Victoria (previously Leliana) has persuaded King Alistair to attend in a show of unity with the mages. So far he's been bored by nobles, decided that Madame de Fer is Anora in tighter clothing, drunk wine far stronger than he'd anticipated and had an inadvisable tryst with the Commander of the Inquisition in the basement of the old Circle Tower. The sun hasn't even set yet...

**Denerim, Summer, 9:42**

“Oh my goodness,” Elissa laughed, sprawled on her back on their bed, curls fanning around her shoulders “you really need to see this one.”

The evening sunlight shone through the letter she waved at him and he snatched it from her, lying on his stomach across most of their pillows, and pushed aside his own correspondence. She scrambled up the bed to read it with him. He glanced tiredly through the first few paragraphs. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

She took it back from him and sat cross legged on the bunched sheets. “Leliana’s found some amusing tales in Val Royeaux. Ah, here we go.” She drew herself up on the bed. “It may also amuse you to know that my people report that the trade in licentious tales of courtly passion remains lucrative in the capital.”

She looked at him pointedly; he failed to see why this was important. Barely a month went by without some pamphlet or another arriving from Orlais or Antiva. More than once he’d had to pen a sternly worded note to Master Tethris reminding him that anything mentioned after a night of drinking with Isabella was not suitable for general publication – least of all for profit. Of much greater importance for the moment was the fact that the day’s business was done and he’d somehow managed to find his way into the Queen of Fereldan’s bed while she was wearing nothing but a thin, oversized nightshirt. He nuzzled her shoulder but was batted away with her free hand. He pouted.

She continued. “Of particular note are a small selection of tales which revolve around your meeting with the Inquisitor at Redcliffe, in which a most unorthodox approach to diplomatic negotiation seems to be in evidence.”

He groaned and flopped onto the pillows. Elissa patted him gently, giggling as she continued to skim the paragraphs. “Seems to be the usual description of you here – strong, masculine, unrefined.” He pulled his head off the pillow to glare half-heartedly. She shrugged. “It’s Orlesian, they’re never going to be _nice_. You appear to be assisting the Inquisitor with the ‘burden of command’ and they keep referring to you as ‘older’.”

He stretched out and felt his back click. “And how old’s the inquisitor?”

She flicked back a page. “According to Leliana, just turned twenty.”

He propped himself up on an elbow, plucking the offered page from her hand. “She’s a child!”

Elissa gave him a reproachful look. “So were we at Ostagar. Anyway, that’s not the important bit.” She read again. “Of greater scandal are some passages we have discovered which feature a lively encounter between a general and a warrior King, who bear stunning resemblance to our Commander and your dear husband. I have enclosed them for your interest.”

He flopped back onto the bed and put an arm around her waist. “I’ve got a _much_ better idea.” He tugged her down towards him.

There was a brief scramble as they rolled around the bed which ended with the King pinned easily on his back on a pile of discarded correspondence and most of the pillows on the floor. Elissa knelt over him, breathing heavily, a hand wrapped around each of his wrists above his head. She ground down onto his cock, trapped between them, and he let his eyes close with a groan. She bit his shoulder sharply and he opened them again with a yelp.

She smirked down at him. “None of that, thank you. You have a reputation to uphold.”

He grinned up at her and rolled his hips into hers. “Strong, masculine and unrefined?” _Maker, she’s beautiful_ he thought.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Something like that.” And leaned down to kiss him.

__

**The Grand Opening of the College of Enchanters, Lake Calenhad, 2 months later**

Teagan was, of course, furious. Partly because the king was drunk, largely because he'd been dragged from the party to deal with his drunk king.

Alistair had been berated for quarter of an hour as glass after glass of water had been pushed into his hand about the implications of their absence from the proceedings and the inconvenience to their hosts. The only positive that Alistair could identify as his shirt was pulled off him and he was pushed into a bath, was that Teagan had decided long ago that unless it was a matter of national security, he really didn't want to know what the king had been up to or why he was looking so decidedly _rumpled._ And so Alistair leaned back against the side of the bathtub, grabbed the sides quickly as he slipped further into the foam and water than intended, and closed his eyes as he listened to his uncle discuss seating arrangements for the evening's banquet and the importance of keeping the Grand Enchanter and Lady Vivienne as far away from each other as possible.

His mind drifted away from lake Calenhad and the College of Enchanters and back to Denerim, where he could almost believe that it was still Elissa's last name day and that the sounds from outside were just people arriving for the ball and the apprentices reluctantly returning to the building were her cousins insisting through barely concealed yawns that there were grown enough to stay up for the feasting. Perhaps he could be in Highever instead, further away from the politics and machinations of the Bannorn, resting for a week under the pretense of visiting the Teyrn and inspecting the navy at Ameranthine. That sounded better, sitting in bath having returned from the Wardens, with nothing to do until dinner and no certain plans for the next day.

"Alistair!"

His uncle looked over his papers reproachfully as he jerked back to full consciousness in the bath and the daydream melted away to reveal the College of Enchanters once more and a suit of ceremonial clothes likely even more uncomfortable than the last draped over a chair. He sat up straighter in the bath, the water sloshing dangerously close to the edge and reached for a cloth to start scrubbing himself.

Teagan huffed and continued, apparently convinced that this was as close as he was likely to get to the King's undivided attention tonight. "I said, we need to sort out your dance card properly. You can probably sit out the waltz in the absence of the queen, but you need to organise the ambassadors."

He glared at a rogue bubble and flicked it towards the fire. "Can't we contain them all to a group dance? A show of unified support from all Thedas or some such nonsense?"

Teagan raised an eyebrow. "Not when Madame de Fer is here as ambassador to the Empress."

That piqued Alistair's interest. "Oh? We've actually managed to verify it?"

The tips of Teagan's ears went pink. "Most Holy mentioned it to me when you had gone inside to _recover from the heat._ " The words hung between them for a moment, with all of Teagan's accusation and disapproval. Alistair ignored both, the sun was setting quickly now, he doubted he had time for another protracted argument on the proper conduct of a king if he wanted to get downstairs on schedule (and he did. The Orlesians would likely be late, but Leliana would be punctual and an opportunity to speak to her privately while showing up his counterpart as rude was not to be sniffed at). His uncle seemed unhappy that Alistair was not prepared to address the growing silence between them and adjusted the ridiculous hat he'd taken to wearing since a squire had been heard commenting on his receding hairline.

 _Stop it uncle_ Alistair thought _it doesn't convince anyone that there's a full head of hair underneath it._

He cleared his throat and continued as though there hadn't been a pause. "Lady Vivienne has been moved to a position of court ambassador with full dispensation to act on the Empress' behalf while here in Fereldan – we're expecting a half-hearted excuse for her lack of personal appearance which will no doubt boil down to _my lover is more interesting than you are_ but the truth is apparently that Madame de Fer has been campaigning for an official position for months now. She has found her position at court a little more tenuous than she would have liked since the Duke died, and Celene has apparently refused all attempts to have her moved back to the position of Court Enchanter in the hope that Morrigan will return to her one day."

Alistair snorted. "Fat chance of that, has Leliana heard anything from her at all?"

Teagan rearranged the papers on a side table rather pointedly. " _Most Holy_ has not received any communication from her either directly or through one of her agents since her letter to the Queen."

Alistair ran a soapy hand over his chin and wondered whether he should shave again. Elissa would chide him for looking scruffy when he was meant to be King of Fereldan, but he felt inclined to give the Orlesians something to mutter about. "The mirrors then?"

"It seems so. Now your majesty, the dance card." Teagan's look suggested he knew damned well that Alistair was changing the subject on purpose. "You will open the dancing with the Grand Enchanter; we must consider whether you will dance with the Inquisitor or Madame Vivienne next."

"The Inquisitor." He didn't think about it, didn't look up and didn't stop scrubbing the scars on his shoulder.

Teagan threw himself dramatically into a chair and was looking at him with pursed lips. "Alistair, Vivienne is here on behalf of the empress."

He shook his head. "But she is _not_ the Empress, the Inquisitor _is_ the Inquisitor. If the Empress will not come in person then she can wait in turn to demand favours of me."

Teagan sighed. "Very well, your majesty." It was the tone that said 'when this goes wrong later I will tell everyone it was done at your insistence', something he'd got rather used to in the early years of his reign and which still made the occasional appearance, especially when the queen wasn't there to back him up. _Which is all too often of late_ he mused to himself.

Any further bickering was cut short by the opening of the door, as Connor slipped into the room with the look of someone who desperately wanted to be ignored. The older men shared a brief glance before Alistair sat up straighter in the bath and offered his cousin a bright smile. "Enjoying the night Connor?"

_Maker, he looks miserable._

The young man looked nervous, hovering uneasily to the side of the tub, seeming to debate whether he should be bowing or not. He decided on an awkward little bob, his eyes fixed firmly on the mantelpiece of the fireplace behind him as he muttered "Yes, thank you Alistair."

He snorted. "Liar. Go and have some wine, that usually helps."

Teagan looked like he was about to protest but thought better of it and filled a glass for his nephew, who nodded gratefully and perched himself on a chair, tugging ineffectually on the ties of his coat with one hand.

"Is it the Orlesians?" He asked.

Connor shook his head. "Mother."

"Well that's the same thing really isn't it?" Connor didn't look up from his wine glass but Teagan gave the king a rather stern glare and moved to sit next to his nephew, Alistair cursed his mouth for moving faster than his brain and reconsidered how drunk he thought he was.

"She keeps telling me to ask for a court position."

Alistair looked to Teagan for help, but his uncle was keeping his face as blank as possible, Connor seemed fascinated by his own knees. He stood carefully and reached for a towel to wrap around himself to buy a moment to think. It wasn't as though anyone at court would make a stink if he brought Connor to Denerim, some complained it inappropriate that he wasn't there already. But the boy had been a full mage less than a year when the circles fell and the mages moved to Redcliffe, and there hadn't really been a good time since to talk about what he might do for a career. Every time Alistair had visited the tower, he'd seemed fully content to stay there indefinitely, never showing interest to move further than the shallows of Lake Calenhad to swim in the summer. He felt he'd spent as much time as a man could on tying a cloth round his waist and stepped out of the bath. "Is that what you want?"

Connor looked pained. "I don't know. I was happy in the circle and I'm happy enough here, but she keeps going on about how Redcliffe should be mine and..." he trailed off, looking at his uncle, who kept his face passive. He turned instead to Alistair, hoping to be interrupted, who took the opportunity to bury his face in a towel and start drying his hair. With no-one obviously coming to his aid, Connor took a deep breath and continued "well, Uncle Teagan's not getting any younger and she often seems to think that _I_ should be his heir."

The silence which followed could have filled books. It was hardly secret of course, that Lady Isolde felt that Redcliffe had been stolen from her as first her son was declared illegitimate by virtue of being mage, then her husband was summoned to Denerim to serve the crown and his land taken on the grounds that he didn't have the time to care for them, given to a brother who spent less time in Fereldan than Eamon had in Redcliffe while serving in the capital.

Nobody wanted to be the first to talk. Connor glanced between them, looking as though he might be shouted at any moment now, Teagan was staring into the flames with the look of a man who definitely did _not_ want to be asked what he was thinking, and Alistair rubbed a cloth over already dry skin and wished once again that Elissa was there with him and not trekking around the Brecillian Forests with Seeker Penteghast _"somewhere, maybe near Gwaren"_.

 _What would Elissa do?_ He cleared his throat and decided to smile. "Well, I'll put it on the list of things to deal with once we're back in the capital. For the moment, we have other things to attend to." He wandered to the window where a book lay wrapped in silk. He picked it up with slightly damp hands and offered it to his cousin with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Would you take this to the Inquisitor please Connar?"

He leaped to his feet, delighted by the opportunity to leave the room, even in obvious dismissal. "Of course Alistair – what is it?"

He smiled again and pressed it into his cousin's hands. "It’s a copy of one of the oldest surviving texts on the third blight. I'm told the Inquisitor is an avid reader, I thought she might like it for her library."

Connor looked impressed. "The college would like it for theirs."

Alistair put an arm around his shoulder and turned him to the door, hoping that this still seemed like a good idea to him in the morning. "Give it to her in person, don't let anyone give you trouble, and if your mother asks where you've been, tell her this is your first appointment as an ambassador to the King of Fereldan."

Connor halted, looking worried. "What if I don't know what to do?"

Alistair grinned at him and remembered the advice Leliana had given before his coronation. "Pretend you're Orlesian and act like one of them."

Connar offered a weak smile and a nod and squared his shoulders – or tried to, the robes had clearly been cut for him before his latest growth spurt and altered hastily, probably this afternoon.

If the guards in the hallway were surprised to see their king open the door wrapped in nothing but towelling cloths and pushing his cousin out of the room holding a book as though his life depended on it, they were too well trained to mention it.

He nodded to them and closed the door again, leaning against it heavily for a moment while he organised his thoughts. _Why do these things always happen once Elissa’s gone somewhere unreachable? There should really be a law by now requiring her to stay within 3 days travel of Denerim in case something terrible happens. But then we’ll never work out whether someone can be cured of the blight._

He moved to the other side of the preposterously large bed (Zevran's doing, he'd later learn, and swapped out twice on the grounds that the previous ones were too small for his majesty's tastes) and started picking through small clothes and undershirts, his mind reeling.

"She's right you know." Teagan hadn't moved from his chair, still staring resolutely into the fire, one hand idly playing with the edge of a paper which was no doubt important. He spoke clearly, but sounded like he was at the far end of a corridor. "It should be his, mage or not."

Alistair sighed and focussed on putting his shirt on the right way round. It had been discussed of course, several times and at quite some length, what they were going to do about Redcliffe. Years ago it had all seemed rather simple, to transfer responsibility from Eamon to Teagan, but his uncle was as childless now as he had been then and changing that still didn't seem a priority. _"He's time still,"_ he'd insisted, the last time it had come up _"think of all the children born to men in their sixties, Uncle Teagan's nowhere near that yet."_ But Elissa had shaken her head _"If he'd an inclination to marry, he'd have done so twenty years ago."_ and it had put him in a foul mood because he'd known she was right.

"We could make him my heir." Teagan ventured, moving from the sofa to hand Alistair his breeches.

"Not planning any of your own then?" He'd meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, but it barked out as an accusation.

Teagan shifted his weight and returned to staring into the fire. "I don't think that's in the Maker's plan for me your Majesty." He cleared his throat and offered a jerkin. "But Connor is of Guerrin blood, the people would accept him if-"

"No they wouldn't," Alistair interrupted, fiddling with the ties to not look at his uncle "Redcliffe might, but even Leliana would struggle to convince the Grand Clerics that it wasn't one step away from Tevinter."

For a few minutes he dressed in silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the rustle of cloth and the steadily increasing noise from downstairs as people started to file into the main hall from the gardens.

Eventually Teagan picked up the coat and moved behind Alistair to help him into it. "What about his children?"

It was something he'd considered, _they'd_ considered, in the moments when they allowed themselves to think far enough into the future for this to be a problem, to a time when they might not be around to solve it as it happened. He turned to his uncle, who suddenly seemed to look his age in the firelight. "You would consent?" He put his arms into the coat as slowly as possible; this seemed to be a conversation easier had when they weren't facing each other.

Teagan pulled the coat up over his shoulders but made no move to step away. "I have no objection. Redcliffe was given to me and my bloodline thereafter on the condition that I produced a bloodline for it to go to. I have failed in this regard. Please-" He started as Alistair started to draw breath "don't deny it. It's the same failure of the last thirty years if you ask Eamon, that's how long he's been telling me to marry. It was decided that Connor was not a suitable heir to Redcliffe, and so it came to me to provide an alternative, which I didn't. Connor would make a good father and a fair regent if I should die before his child is grown." He sighed. "And anyway, he's far more likely than I am to produce one at this stage. The notion that I could wed a girl and produce issue is more flattery than realism I'm afraid." He clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "Something to think about at least. But as you said, a matter for another time. For now, we have a tower full of mages to deal with. Will you shave?"

__

_The night was cold and dark beyond the windows of the castle. King Alec dismissed the last of the day’s petitioners to be dealt with in the morning and sat back behind his desk with a fine Orlesian wine, wishing that he could enjoy it in public. The rough stone and wooden statues of his castle danced in the firelight, the furs on his bed inviting._

_The door slammed open dramatically, the figure of his general silhouetted against the light beyond. King Alec leant back in his chair with a smirk as the soldier stalked forward, furious and the door snapped shut behind him._

_Collin had been chosen as general for his looks rather than skill – smooth blonde waves swept back from a handsome face marred only by a scar on his lip. His promotion from captain to leader had raised some eyebrows, but Alec cared little for the mood of the people; if he had to have a general then that general should please him._

_Anger was a good look on his general Alec thought, Collin’s broad shoulders shook with rage under his fur mantle as he crossed the room quickly and stood before the desk, his powerful hands clenching into fists. “What is the meaning of this?” He snarled._

_Alec stood from his desk, knocking the chair back in the process and moved in front of the soldier, standing so close that he could feel Collin’s panting breath. He seized the man’s face and kissed him forcefully. Collin froze for a moment then leaned into it, his hands coming up to twist in the King’s red hair._

_The king manoeuvred them roughly until Collin was leaned against his desk and thrust his muscled thigh between the soldier’s legs to grind against his manhood and draw another moan. Collin broke the kiss, panting and moaning into the air. “My King,” he pleaded, his hips rutting into the King’s leg, desperate for friction “my King, please.”_

_Alec snorted, moving hand between them to grasp the general’s manhood roughly. “My King... what?” He demanded through gritted teeth._

_Collin closed his eyes, his face flushed. “Please, my King, have your use of me.”_

_Alec span his general so that he was bent over the desk, blonde curls almost level with the discarded papers. He reached around, fumbling like a youth with the soldier’s clothing, hands shaking with his own need. He managed to get the soldier’s breeches and small clothes down to his knees, where they hung over the tops of his boots, and reached around him for the pot on his desk._

_He shoved his own clothes roughly to his knees with one hand and slicked his hardened member with cool grease. He grabbed Collins hip with one hand and guided his cock between the blonde’s thighs with the other. Collin obligingly crossed his legs at the ankle and Alec hissed at the sudden tightness around his cock._

_He began to thrust and for several minutes the room filled with the crackling of the fire and the slap of flesh on flesh. King Alec began to grow impatient, sweat beading on his brow as he thrust harder and faster between his general’s thighs. “Touch yourself.” He ordered._

_Collin nodded against his desk and moved a hand under himself with some effort, and soft gasps added to his heavy breathing, his thighs clenching tighter around the King. Alec hissed again at the new tightness, gritting his teeth at the impending loss of composure._

_On the desk the general shuddered. “Sire...” he said weakly._

_Alec nodded to himself and braced a hand on Collin’s hip, reaching the other around to where his general’s hand sped over his own member. He cupped his hand over the head. “Spend.” He commanded, still thrusting._

_Beneath him, Collin shook and gasped and spent into the King’s hand. He lay slumped on the desk, legs still clamped around the King’s member, his thrusts becoming erratic. Alec grabbed Collin’s shoulder with his free hand and wrenched him upright, grunting with the new sensations, and brought his seed covered hand to the blonde’s mouth._

_Collin’s tongue slipped out and began lapping at his own seed, tongue rasping across the King’s sensitive palm. Alec shuddered and moaned and thrust frantically for a few more seconds before he spent between his general’s thighs with a groan._

_His forehead sagged to Collin’s shoulder and they breathed heavily together for a second. The moment passed and Alec withdrew from Collin’s thighs, wincing. He pulled his clothes up lazily and staggered to his fur covered bed where he fell onto his back with his eyes closed. He waved a hand weakly at Collin in dismissal and in his satisfied musings and the general rustle of clothing, failed to notice his general slipping from the room, the King’s Correspondence tucked into his coat._

Discovered in Val Royeaux and removed shortly before its publication in Randy Dowager Monthly, Master Pavus considers it ‘amateurish at best’. I will let you know if my people find anything else which might amuse you - L

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome, chapter 2 will be posted on Friday.


End file.
